


In Which John Entices Sherlock to Eat

by AStudyInAlgedonics



Series: In Which Sherlock Knits, and Other Tales of 221B Baker St. [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff and drabbles, John just wants Sherlock to eat something, M/M, Wesker and Son, hand sandwiches, things that make me happy include Sherlock's morbid sense of humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AStudyInAlgedonics/pseuds/AStudyInAlgedonics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A butcher shop promoting some game or other just opened up in London. John doesn't really care about that, but he does care that Sherlock still hasn't eaten in days, and that meat shaped like a human hand might be just the thing...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which John Entices Sherlock to Eat

**Author's Note:**

> The "human-meat" butcher shop (it's not real people flesh, in case you were alarmed) Wesker & Son just opened up in London to promote Resident Evil. I don't play it, but I a) really badly think a hand sandwich would be morbidly awesome and b) really like the idea of John buying Sherlock one. 
> 
> Naturally I don't own anything.

It only takes Sherlock five of the seventeen steps to 221B’s doorstep to deduce that someone’s carrying something up. By the time he ( _he’d think he or she for grammatical precision, but he knows it’s a he, why bother_ ) gets to the door, he knows exactly who it is and how much he’s carrying.

( _Slightly irregular gait says John. Could be Mrs Hudson, but John’s has lessened noticeably since he moved in and the abnormality is very faint. Besides, she’s already been up once this morning and - ah, he didn’t bother to knock, definitely John then. He didn’t set anything down, means he has a hand free, one bag. Since it didn’t bang against the walls, it’s not small or compact, it’s probably fairly weighty but not big enough to require both hands_ )

Sherlock looks up from his experiment to see John carrying - yes - one plastic bag with the quadrangular shape of Styrofoam boxes and the undeniable odour of sandwiches ( _fresh bread, cheese, strong mustard; probably some sort of meat considering the other components_ ).

“Not hungry,” he informs John succinctly.

John looks faintly sick as he peers at what Sherlock’s doing. “Not sure I am either, now,” he says. “Is that a good teacup?!”

“Obviously.” Sherlock prods at the large clot in the bottom with a spoon, then adds for clarification, “Snake venom’s effects on human blood. I think a first-hand examination might be useful for this current case.” Just for emphasis, he repeats, “Case, John, which means I’m not interested in food.”

With an effort, John pulls his gaze away from the blood clot in the teacup and sits down across from Sherlock. When he speaks, his tone’s deliberately off-hand.

“That’s too bad,” he says, removing the top box ( _marked with a JW: they’re very different then if he wants to be so sure to keep them straight_ ) from the bag. “I did go to all of the trouble of getting you a hand sandwich.”

Normally, Sherlock has perfect confidence in his own senses. After all, they are his first and most reliable instruments for analysing the world around him. He doesn’t mishear things. Still, there’s something terribly incongruous about generally mild-mannered army doctor John Watson casually announcing that his latest attempt to entice Sherlock to eat when he doesn’t need to involves cannibalism. He supposes every system must err once.

( _Based on the context and the mistaken word, John most likely said ‘ham’ instead_ )

“I don’t see what’s so pressing about ham,” he sniffs. “The only meats more boring are all poultry.”

“Good job I said ‘hand’, not ‘ham’, then,” John replies. For a few seconds, Sherlock can only blink at him.

( _He opposes the use of body parts for experimentation - at least in the flat - but is perfectly comfortable with the consumption of human flesh?_ )

He can’t make heads or tails of it.

John grins at Sherlock’s agape expression - something he rarely gets to see, let alone cause - and takes out the other box, pushing aside the blood-filled teacup to set it in front of Sherlock. Predictably, it too bears initials: SH, of course.

“There was a butcher shop set up in Smithfield for some publicity stunt,” John explains. “It’s regular meat, obviously, but they shape it into bits of people - arms, legs, hands, all of that. Since the money goes to charity anyway, I thought I may as well try and get you to eat.”

Sherlock opens the container, gritting his teeth at the irritating squeak of the Styrofoam. Inside, there is a bun with fingers hanging over the sides so it looks like the hand is gripping the bottom piece of bread.

By this point, John is already tucking into his own sandwich - a much more normal, non-hand ham sandwich - and doing his best to look casual, but Sherlock can almost feel his eyes boring into him, waiting for his reaction. He picks the sandwich up thoughtfully. The fingers bob limply. It’s impossible not to start chuckling, and after a moment, John joins in.

Soon enough suggestions of ways to frighten and irritate the Yard team start flying, fuelling the laughter bubbling out of both of them. A jar full of ears on Sergeant Donovan’s desk is John’s personal favourite, just because the shop didn’t sell eyeballs, but Sherlock contends that leaving a couple of hands on Anderson’s desk with a note telling him to practice his fingerprinting would be better. John thinks notes are cheating.  

When the laughter finally dies down, Sherlock hefts his hand sandwich again. It’ll slow him down, yes - but then there’s John, right there, hoping for approval, the only man Sherlock’s ever known who really wants to be around him, appreciates his genius and his humour enough to call him “brilliant” instead of “freak”.

( _Of course Sherlock doesn’t need anyone else’s approval, but it’s a nice change, John is a nice change and he likes having him there_ )

He takes a hesitant bite, chews, swallows. It’s ham, of course.

“Not bad hand,” he says, arching one eyebrow but otherwise keeping his face deadpan. “As far as hand goes, that is.”

“Had a lot of hand, have you?” John inquires with a barely suppressed snicker. Sherlock shrugs - if John doesn’t realize how that sounds, he’s not going to point it out for him-but then they meet each other’s eyes and they’re giggling wildly again.


End file.
